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<title>We'd Make Terrible Ghost Hunters by FannibalToast</title>
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<h1><a href="https://archiveofourown.org/works/27213715">We'd Make Terrible Ghost Hunters</a> by <a class='authorlink' href='https://archiveofourown.org/users/FannibalToast/pseuds/FannibalToast'>FannibalToast</a></h1>

<table class="full">

<tr><td><b>Category:</b></td><td>Criminal Minds (US TV)</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Genre:</b></td><td>Cuddling, Established Relationship, F/M, Fluff, Ghost Stories, Kissing, Light Chills and Thrills, M/M, Reader-Insert, Spooky stories, Storms</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Language:</b></td><td>English</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Status:</b></td><td>Completed</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Published:</b></td><td>2020-10-26</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Updated:</b></td><td>2020-10-26</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Packaged:</b></td><td>2021-05-06 19:21:47</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Rating:</b></td><td>General Audiences</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Warnings:</b></td><td>No Archive Warnings Apply</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Chapters:</b></td><td>1</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Words:</b></td><td>1,104</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Publisher:</b></td><td>archiveofourown.org</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Story URL:</b></td><td>https://archiveofourown.org/works/27213715</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Author URL:</b></td><td>https://archiveofourown.org/users/FannibalToast/pseuds/FannibalToast</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Summary:</b></td><td><div class="userstuff">
              <p>You and Spencer settle in to watch a livestream from the Traveling Museum of the Paranormal and Occult.</p><p>Then the lights go out.</p>
            </div></td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Relationships:</b></td><td>Spencer Reid/Gender Neutral Reader, Spencer Reid/Reader, Spencer Reid/You</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Comments:</b></td><td>6</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Kudos:</b></td><td>53</td></tr>

</table>

<a name="section0001"><h2>We'd Make Terrible Ghost Hunters</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_head_notes"><b>Author's Note:</b><blockquote class="userstuff">
      <p>Back again! More autumn goodness with Spencer Reid, inspired by these <a href="https://downwithwritersblock.tumblr.com/post/630841393375477760/happy-halloween-sorry-i-know-i-am-a-day-late-but">writing prompts</a>.</p>
    </blockquote></div><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <hr/><p>
  <em> Prompt: Shadows </em>
</p><p> </p><p>The rain pounded against your windows, fists of wind shaking the glass. It was a hell of a storm for October, but you were tucked away in your apartment, safe and warm.</p><p>If antsy. Just a little. Not scared; you weren’t scared of a little old storm. <em> Ansty </em>.</p><p>“Spence, come on, it’s starting!”</p><p>“Wait, hold on!”</p><p>“It’s live, I can’t press pause!”</p><p>A soft (very soft) muttered curse followed by the jostling of kitchenware and then the hurried, muffled slap of socked feet across the carpet. With a slight huff, Spencer plopped himself down beside you on the couch, lifting the comically large bowl of popcorn up so you could nestle against his side, resting the laptop across each of your knees. You pressed a kiss to his temple as thanks before digging in. Spencer grinned and blew a wayward curl away from his face, sliding his arm behind you. “What’d I miss?”</p><p>“Intro and recap. Here, get under the blanket with me.”</p><p>You huddled together as the camera lingered on the lantern: black plating beneath bronze detailing that looked almost runic, a sharp contrast of matte and metallic sheen. It was affixed with a copper tube and a lens that caught the light <em> just so </em>, making the ghostly painted-on image flash as if in greeting. The voice of Greg Newkirk curled up around you: “In the 19th century, phantasmagoria performances were all the rage in the United States and Europe. They were fully-immersive mystery and horror shows that used lanterns to project spectral apparitions—candlelight, a convex lens, a painted spectre, and either smoke or a gauze screen came together to delight and terrify audiences.”</p><p>You and Spencer exchanged silly grins as Dana’s voice took over: “Étienne-Gaspard Robertson didn’t invent the magic lantern, but his shows were definitely among the most popular of the time. The authorities even shut him down once because people believed he’d successfully resurrected the spirit of Louis XVI after his execution.”</p><p>“It may not have been Louis XVI, but accounts of that night make it pretty clear that Robertson was channeling <em> something </em>.” The camera moved to show Greg, Dana, and their guest speaker sitting beside the lantern. “These shows were known for being immersive, right?"</p><p>"Correct. Robertson leaned into the performance of it, held his shows in an abandoned chapel, kept the general atmosphere tense and quiet. Then he’d turn off all the lights, play funeral bells to call the spirits, and use sound effects to make it seem like the theater had been taken over by phantoms.”</p><p>“They used water-filled glasses for the haunting sounds,” Spencer whispered against the shell of your ear. Your shiver made him chuckle.</p><p>“Letters published after his death show that Robertson’s performances didn’t take on their <em> extra-haunted </em> quality until after he obtained this particular lantern,” Dana explained. “He wrote that this lantern was found outside the chapel one night. Despite its unique look and ornamentation, he assumed it was one of his and packed it up.”</p><p>Spencer leaned forward, crunching quietly. You let yourself curl a bit more tightly against him. For cuddles. Not because of the spooky story and the raging storm outside.</p><p>“After that, audience members started experiencing more than just the auditory effects. Even people in the back rows reported being poked, scratched, and pinched during the shows. Certain clusters of the theater would leave looking like they were in a daze, pale and shaking, asking when they’d gotten back. Others would ask Robertson how he managed to make it so hot, or how he’d managed to find the photographs of their loved ones he’d projected on the screen. Then they’d ask how he made them move so fluidly, or how he’d made them speak in a way so only a few could hear them.”</p><p>The camera zoomed in on the lantern’s lens. A figure hovered there, thin strokes of grey and black paint, so fine it looked like smoke. </p><p>“Looks like a headless man,” Spencer whispered.</p><p>You shook your head. “It’s a battered overcoat with no one inside.”</p><p>You glanced at each other, chuckling tightly. </p><p>Greg pressed on. “Robertson didn’t get rid of the lantern until after the night of the Louis XVI performance. After Louis, the audience—not just pockets of people, but the <em> whole theater </em> —reported a shadow falling across the crowd. They claimed they <em> felt </em> it, like a cold, damp sheet being pulled across the room. They reported terrible visions—”</p><p>Was the picture dimming? You blinked at the screen to clear your eyes. Spencer’s hand tightened on your shoulder.</p><p>“—of the long-forgotten dead. And sounds, starting with heavy footfalls, moving from the door inward toward the crowd—”</p><p>The sound went fuzzy, as if it were a radio transmission instead of a livestream. Was it quieter in the apartment? </p><p>Colder? </p><p>“Spence?”</p><p>He took your hand, perhaps a bit too tightly.</p><p>“—closer and closer—”</p><p>More static, sharp and brackish. The video feed wavered, distorting the images into painful streaks.</p><p>“—voices promising to return when the veil had thinned once more.”</p><p>The room went dark.</p><p>You yelped, laptop and popcorn clattering to the floor. Spencer’s arms wound tightly around you, his pulse jumping against your skin where your fingertips dug into his wrists. “It’s okay, we’re okay.” He failed to hide the tension in his voice. “Just a coincidence, I’m sure—”</p><p>The sound of heavy footsteps.</p><p>Three booming knocks on the door. </p><p>And breathing. </p><p>Patient, purposeful breathing.</p><p>In a mad tangle of limbs you and Spencer catapulted yourselves over the couch in a dash to your bedroom, crashing to the mattress and whipping the covers up over your heads. Your voice was shrill and breathless. </p><p>“Spence, <em> what is it </em>?”</p><p>“Not a ghost. Definitely not a ghost. Can’t be—”</p><p>“Hey!” The loud, rough voice of your landlord rang through the apartment. “Storm knocked out the power! I’m callin’ the power company now!” The heavy footfalls moved away, heading towards the next door to deliver the same message to your neighbors.</p><p>You stared at each other in the dark before dissolving first into bubbling giggles, then full, brackish peals of shared laughter. Spencer’s hand found your cheek in the dark, pulling your forehead to his. “As much as I hate to admit it, we’d make terrible ghost hunters.”</p><p>You slid your hand over his, lifting your chin to catch his lips against your own. You felt him smile. “Maybe,” you conceded. “Good thing we have other talents.”</p><p>The low, rich laugh was the only warning you had before he pulled you in for another kiss, knowing you would be showcasing those talents until the power came back on.</p>
  </div><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_foot_notes"><b>Author's Note:</b><blockquote class="userstuff"><p>I did the absolute bare minimum of research on phantasmagoria shows, and as far as I know I made up the bit about the haunted lantern. Greg and Dana have not done this, I don't think :) You can learn more about the shows here: https://daily.jstor.org/the-magic-lantern-shows-that-influenced-modern-horror/</p></blockquote></div></div>
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